News

Imagine this scene: Christmas Eve, the whole family at the table, Grandma talking about hay under the tablecloth, and you're… scrolling through Instagram. Or Grandpa starts telling a war story, and you check how many likes your Christmas tree photo has gotten. Or Mom asks, "How's work going?" and you reply, "Fine," without taking your eyes off the screen. And suddenly you realize: you're physically at the table, but mentally you're on your phone. As Marek Grechuta sang, "Because we are the whole world" – but that world has just shrunk to a 6.1-inch screen.

There's a sound. Mariah Carey's high, ringing vocals, cutting through the din of holiday preparations. There's also an image: a small, resolute blond man clasping his hands to his face in an iconic scream. And there's a smell: a blend of orange, pine needles, and... the Pegasus console being fired up for the first time this year.

There's a magical time of year, suspended somewhere between the end of Christmas and the beginning of the New Year. A time when the doorbell rings in the evening, and behind it stands a group of singing figures with a star. Carolers!

Remember those holidays at Grandma's, when the tree bowed under the weight of ornaments, chains hung from every corner, and baubles fought for space with the tinsel? And maybe Mom would sigh, "This is too much, Grandma," and Grandma would reply, "Too much? There's no such thing as 'too much' for Christmas!" As Maryla Rodowicz sang, "Long live the ball"—and a maximalist Christmas is exactly that, a ball, only with a festive twist. Pillovely understands that "for those who want more" isn't just a slogan—it's a lifestyle. And that's precisely why maximalism in the 2025 holidays isn't chaos, but celebration.

There's a movie. It begins and ends at Heathrow Airport, and in between, it delivers so much emotion, laughter, and holiday magic that it's become synonymous with December. I'm talking, of course, about Love Actually (2003).

Remember when December was a month of waiting, not racing? When, after December 6th, the days slowly dragged until Christmas Eve, and you lay on the carpet, staring at the tree, and simply waited? Today, in your thirties or forties, December is a to-do list so long it wouldn't fit on the wall: gifts for twenty people, three company meetings, shopping, cooking, cleaning, decorating. And suddenly you realize it's December 23rd, and you're so tired you'd love to go to sleep and wake up on the 27th. As Kora sang, "All you have is yourself"—but in December, it seems like you have everyone but yourself.

Remember that furniture at grandma's—dark walnut, a massive chest of drawers, a table with thick legs, shelves full of books? And remember how for the last fifteen years everyone said, "This is too heavy, too dark, too old"? Light Scandinavian oak, white, minimalism—that was the trend. But 2025 brings a revolution: dark wood is making a comeback. As Czesław Niemen sang, "Strange is this world"—and even stranger when what was "grandma's" suddenly becomes the hottest trend.

Remember how in Grandma's bedroom, in winter, there were two blankets on one bed, and sheepskin on the floor, so you wouldn't have to stand barefoot on the icy boards? And remember how the window had double curtains – one thin, the other thick, velvet – because every gap meant heat loss? Grandma knew what she was doing – she was building a haven, not just a bedroom. As Marek Grechuta sang, "The world is your oyster" – but in winter, that world can be so cold you want to stay in bed forever.

Remember those boxes in Grandma's attic, full of glass baubles from the '70s, '80s, maybe even earlier? Some shiny, others dull, scratched, with peeling paint. And you remember the feeling when Grandma would say, "This is a keepsake from your great-grandmother, it's a shame to throw it away." But at the same time, you saw that those baubles no longer looked the same – the paint had peeled off, the glass had darkened, the shine had vanished. As Czesław Niemen sang, "Strange is this world" – but even stranger when you have a bauble that remembers the communist era, and you don't know what to do with it.